


Insecurity Guard

by Jay_eagle



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, MJN Air Is A Family, Martin/Douglas if you squint, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: Douglas tries to solve Martin's problem, and instead discovers his secret.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [martincrieff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/martincrieff/gifts).



“ _Again_ , Martin?” Carolyn’s expression seemed to be warring between exhausted and exasperated. As so often, exasperation won out. “For goodness’ sake. You’re a professional pilot. Haven’t you learnt to empty your pockets properly before going through security?”

 

Martin, red-faced and flustered, flapped his hands in futile defence. “My pockets _are_ empty,” he insisted, turning to gather his bags together from the belt.

 

Douglas was already reassembled, and bent to help Arthur – experience having taught him that Arthur would sometimes unpack just as much as he repacked in an effort to keep ‘friendly’ socks next to each other in his luggage. “It’s the fifth time this month they’ve pulled you for a pat-down,” he observed, as Arthur chased off after an escaping deodorant, which had somehow leapt out of his liquids bag. “And it’s only the 7th of August.”

 

“Keeping count?” Martin was scarlet, his hair sticking up wildly in all directions where it escaped in wisps from under his hastily donned hat.

 

“Well, it is rather tedious, having to wait for you to be fondled at every single airport we fly through.” Douglas finally handed Arthur’s bag back to him, and stepped back.

 

“Piss _off_ , Douglas.” Martin’s hissed retort was far more venomous than Douglas would have expected. Douglas’ eyes met Carolyn’s, noting that she too looked mildly surprised. “We’re late. Come on.” Martin spun on his heel and stalked away.

 

Douglas shrugged, and even Arthur fell meekly into line and followed Martin to GERTI’s stand.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until the following weekend that Douglas thought any more about Martin’s bad luck at security checkpoints. They were on a layover in Palermo; they’d flown four trips since their mild contretemps, and Martin had twice more been pulled for an extra check when something on his person set off the security gate.

 

The hotel room they were sharing was unusually spacious; Martin had thrown his jacket over a chair and had gone to take a shower. Judging by how hot and sweaty he’d looked on their arrival, he’d be a while yet; Douglas felt the tingle in his spine that often preceded the proving of one of his hunches, and he tiptoed over to pick up Martin’s jacket to feel the lining – _aha_.

 

It had happened to Douglas, once; a coin, escaping through a tiny hole in his pocket, had slipped into his jacket’s silky inner material, there to set off the metal detectors in every airport he flew through until he realised what was going on. Douglas grinned as his fingers probed the hard circle he’d just located. Another opportunity to lord his brilliance over Martin – and to solve his problem for him, of course. Douglas slipped his hand into the pocket just above the coin, expecting to find the hole that the money had slid through – but there wasn’t one. His grin dimmed.

 

Turning the jacket around, he felt in the other pocket, though _surely_ the coin wouldn’t have made its way right around from there to the opposite side. “No hole there, either,” Douglas murmured to himself. Now he truly was perplexed. Surely Martin wouldn’t have darned his pocket without first checking to see if anything had fallen through it?

 

He carried the jacket to the lamp over the bed, to better examine it under the light. The scratchy polyester of the outer material revealed nothing, but when Douglas looked closely at the inner, he saw it – a tiny row of stitches, just where the coin was sitting. Douglas gaped – and then dropped the jacket in shock as Martin’s voice, loud with outrage, erupted behind him.

 

“What the _hell_ d’you think you’re doing?”

 

Recovering himself, Douglas span round. “I’ve solved your problem.”

 

Martin glared suspiciously. “Problem?”

 

Douglas bent to snag the jacket, holding it out. Martin came forward and took it – almost snatching – but Douglas didn’t let go. Instead, he pointed at what he’d found. “A practical joke, I think,” he said, his blood beginning unexpectedly to boil on Martin’s behalf. “Someone’s stitched you up. Literally.”

 

To Douglas’ amazement, Martin’s reaction wasn’t anger. It was more like… fear. “Oh,” he said, and didn’t ask further questions. His fingers went straight to the coin, and he turned away, tugging the jacket free of Douglas’ hand. Suspicion suddenly, quietly kindled in Douglas’ heart, though with a significant side-helping of bafflement.

 

“Do you…” Douglas hesitated. Martin looked oddly vulnerable in civvies; jeans and a jumper managing somehow to emphasise how short he was, how slight. “Do you want me to ask around the airfield? See who did it?”

 

“No!” Martin’s response was immediate and sharp. He went to hang up the jacket. “I’ll fix it.” He didn’t seem to want to look at Douglas, and suspicion melted more towards certainty. _Martin? Not wanting to tick off a transgressor?_

 

“Martin…” Douglas wasn’t sure exactly what to say, even as Martin turned to stare at him, an attempt at defiance – or maybe toughness – in his eyes. “Did – did you do it?” He felt lunatic for even asking, but an indefinable something was needling at him.

 

Martin’s mouth opened. Then shut. Then opened again. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Martin’s laugh had the brittle edge of mild hysteria in it. “Why on earth would I do something like that? To my own jacket?”

 

It hadn’t escaped Douglas that Martin was blushing again, his cheeks hectic with colour. “I don’t know,” he replied, slowly, his mind churning over possibilities. “Why would you?”

 

Martin’s hands found the back of the chair, his knuckles white where he gripped. “Exactly,” he said, but the word was unconvincing.

 

Douglas hadn’t finished. “To make us late?” he guessed.

 

Martin looked horrified. “Of course not!”

 

Douglas believed him. “To hide something else? In your luggage?”

 

“Leave it, Douglas.”

 

“No?” Douglas was alight with curiosity, but there was worry in him, too. Martin had been out of sorts for two months, at least, and Douglas felt as if at last he was – somehow – getting to the crux of his colleague’s bad moods. He paused as he grasped for a new theory.

 

“I said leave it.” Martin ran an anxious hand through his curls. “Honestly, Douglas, it’s none of your business.”

 

“It is my business if you make us late every single time with an asinine trick like that,” Douglas retorted. “And I want to know _why_ , unless it’s a newfound delight in a quick fumble by a stranger you know you’ll never see again –“

 

“Stop it!” Martin’s voice was higher pitched than Douglas had ever heard it. He’d gone purple.

 

Douglas skidded to a verbal halt, shock jolting through him. “You _want_ them to touch you?” The conclusion was so unexpected, he wasn’t sure how to react.

 

“No, of course not, who’d want –“

 

“You do!” Douglas stared. “Why, Martin?”

 

Martin glared desperately back. His brain was obviously whirring through possible excuses, and coming up blank. “I – I –“ he said, but didn’t go any further. At last, he sagged, and tried to turn away. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, voice strangled.

 

Douglas had rarely felt so utterly confounded. “Try me.”

 

Martin swallowed, but didn’t reply. Douglas winced. “Is it a… sexual…” he began, but stopped as Martin’s head flew up.

 

“No! Oh God, no.” Martin shuddered. “That would be – ugh.”

 

Douglas tried not to let his relief show. “Then… what?” he probed, gently as he could. Martin looked on the verge of tears.

 

“It’s stupid,” he said, and sank into the chair in front of him, burying his head in his hands.

 

Douglas’ wave of concern grew stronger still. He moved to grip Martin’s shoulder, and felt the captain twitch under his fingers. “I won’t judge. I promise.”

 

Martin sighed and after a moment, gave in. “It started when I got pulled over on the way to Arizona. Six weeks ago.” His gaze hadn’t left the threadbare carpet. “I really had left a five pence piece in my pocket by mistake, then. And the man searched me.” A long pause. “And I realised… while he was doing it…” Martin looked up, hopelessness evident. “He was the first person who’d touched me in _six months_ , Douglas. Six months.” Martin closed his eyes. “He was perfectly professional. Perfunctory, even. But… but I just… I was…”

 

“Tempted,” Douglas said. He held his breath, unsure what to say.

 

“Yes.” Martin hung his head again. “I don’t – I just thought, well, it’s their job. They don’t care. And I definitely don’t _get off_ on it, or anything. I just – it makes me feel real again. Like I matter. Like I’m actually… here.”

 

There was a pregnant pause. Douglas felt thrown for a loop – speechless, for the first time he could remember in years.

 

Martin clenched his fist. “Go on then. Laugh at me.” His voice bitter, he stood, throwing off Douglas’ hand. “Tell all your mates, down the Hose and Hydrant. How pathetic I am.”

 

Douglas felt his mouth twist. “You idiot,” he said, and Martin flinched as if he’d been slapped. Before Martin could turn away, though, Douglas leant forward, and pulled Martin into his arms, crushing Martin tight against his chest. Martin let out a startled yelp and struggled as if to leap away, but Douglas just held him more firmly. “You could have _asked_ ,” he growled, into Martin’s ear. “Anytime.”

 

“You – what?” Martin stopped wriggling.

 

“You should have said.” Douglas’ heart felt as if a crack had opened across its surface; only his hold around Martin’s shoulders was keeping the fracture from becoming a break. “I’d have hugged you.”

 

“You’d have laughed at me, Douglas…” Martin didn’t sound as sure as he had moments before, though.

 

“I’m not laughing now, am I?” Douglas shook him, just a little.

 

“No.” Tentatively, Martin wrapped one arm round Douglas’ back. Douglas felt the pat of Martin’s hand against his shoulder blade.

 

“You don’t think I know what it’s like? To be lonely?” Douglas could never have said it to Martin’s face, but their faces were hidden now, and it was harder to care.

 

“I… you always have women. After you.”

 

“Bollocks I do.” Douglas felt Martin’s other arm come around him. “It’s just front. I’m not 22, anymore. Not even 42. And since Helena walked out, well…”

 

“You’re… lonely too.”

 

Douglas hesitated, at war with himself as to whether to dare to admit it. His protective skin, pushed away? He wasn’t sure if he could, even in a situation like this one. But Martin seemed to understand. “You don’t have to say it,” Martin said, softly. “I know.”

 

“You do. Now.” Reluctantly, Douglas loosened his hold, and Martin stepped half a pace back. Neither of them seemed to be able to meet the other’s eyes, at first, until they both screwed up their courage at the same time. They half-laughed, breaking the odd stillness between them, but lingering tension remained.

 

“Don’t tell anyone. Please.” Martin hadn’t totally lost his wariness.

 

“I won’t, if you won’t.”

 

“Of course not.” Martin looked immediately happier – happier, indeed, than he had done in months.

 

“And if you’ll take out that stupid coin.”

 

Martin blushed again, but it was less this time. “I’ll do it tonight,” he promised.

 

“Hug _me_ instead, when you need to.” Douglas raised an eyebrow as he saw Martin hesitate. “I – I need it too,” he confessed, and steeled himself for derision.

 

But Martin just looked poleaxed with relief, and even pleasure. “I will,” he said, and there was no mockery in it. He held out a hand, and clasped Douglas’ upper arm. Douglas felt the warmth of it run all through him. “Thank you,” Martin said. He evidently meant it.

 

“It’s nothing,” Douglas replied, and knew himself for a liar.

 

It was everything.


End file.
